Lost & Found
by dreamsofhim
Summary: Some things are not lost, only mislaid. GrissomSara. Established relationship.


**Summary:** Some things are not lost, only mislaid. Written for **BestKeptPrivate **fic challenge. Prompt: the beach.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine. No silver has crossed my palm, either.

**A/N:** Contains dialogue references to CSI Season 5 episode, _No Humans Involved._ Thanks to **jenbachand** for the beta, and **csishewolf**, **brandie** and **phdelicious** for the support and ideas. Cross-posted at **GeekFiction** and **BestKeptPrivate**.

* * *

The cedar box no longer smelled of English Leather cologne, but you could still read the label if you looked carefully. It was dusty, of course. Not surprising since it had been stuck up in the rafters of the child's playhouse for thirty-odd years. The contents were pretty well preserved – perhaps a natural function of the wood. Inside was a collection of sea shells and smooth stones from the beach below, a family of blown glass sea lions wrapped carefully in a ladies handkerchief, a three inch tall copper-colored replica of the Eiffel Tower, a collection of handmade Valentines all signed 'Sammy,' several old photos and a report card. 

It was the report card that allowed the new managers of Bayside Rest to locate the owner of the box. Neighbors in the area still remembered her and her family and the tragedy that seemed to haunt them. More than one knew she'd moved to Las Vegas. One in particular, Nathan Cherry, who'd worked at The Rest back in the day and knew where all the bodies were buried, literally, was able to put his hands on an address for the owner: Sara Sidle, c/o Las Vegas Crime Lab, 2974 Westfall, Las Vegas, Nevada, 89109.

xxx

Grissom pulled up in front of the townhouse and looked at the package on the passenger seat. Judy had handed him the box with the rest of his mail at the start of shift, assuming he would take it home to Sara who'd had the night off. Funny how everyone accepted them as a couple with barely raised eyebrows. There was no specific announcement or revelation. It had just become common knowledge, not unlike the news that he'd shaved off the beard.

He studied the package again as he shut off the car. Postmark was Tomales Bay, no return address. Ever since the 2001 anthrax attacks, all mail coming to the Lab had to pass through an anti-terrorist protocol. The box presented no obvious threat or it would never have made it to reception. He'd fluoroscoped it anyway, just to be sure. Nothing suspicious.

Still, that Marin County postmark bothered him. In the months since they'd been together she'd been hesitant to talk about her childhood…and for good reason. He was similarly reluctant to dwell on his father's death. It wasn't as if they'd never talked about those old losses – they had – but after they'd covered that ground, looking forward together seemed more worthwhile than looking back.

Tucking the parcel and his portfolio under his arm, he climbed the steps and unlocked the front door.

"Sara, I'm home," he called when he didn't see her in the living room or kitchen.

He'd turned to take off his jacket and didn't see her approach; he smiled when she put her arms around his middle, pulling him close. "Good morning," she said sleepily, "I must have dozed off."

Turning in her arms, he greeted her properly. How had he lived so long without good morning kisses? It was still a mystery.

"Good morning," he said finally.

"You hungry?" she asked. "Say yes, because I made pancake batter."

He grinned, "Yes."

"Good. I'm in the mood for you to make me some pancakes," she said as she relaxed against his chest. "Glad you're home."

Kissing her on the temple, he said, "Me, too…I guess I'd better go fire up the griddle."

"It's already out on the counter. Batter's in the fridge."

"Set the table?" he asked over his shoulder. He stopped moving toward the kitchen when he saw her staring at the package he'd left on the little table by the door. "That came for you at the Lab."

Sara glanced up at him, not really seeing him, then continued to stare at the box. "This is from Tomales Bay," she said, her voice small with shock.

He was back beside her instantly. "Sara, you all right?"

Eyes wide, she said, "I don't know."

xxx

Grissom and Sara sat next to each other at the kitchen table, a cedar box between them amidst a wad of brown paper and string. When Sara made no move to open the box he touched her hand, "Sara...honey...what is it?"

Tears in her eyes she looked at him, unable to speak.

"Sara?" he asked, concerned for her.

She ran her fingers over the faded English Leather label on the lid of the box. "It's mine...I mean, it was mine...when I was a kid..."

"Do you know who sent it?"

"Probably Nathan...Nathan Cherry. He was our handyman, gardener, neighbor...when I was a kid, Nathan was kind of a fixture at The Rest," she said.

"The Rest?"

"Bayside Rest was the name of my parent's B&B. All the locals called it The Rest. My father inherited it from his grandmother...it had been in the family for years," she said, wiping her eyes.

Gesturing at the box with his chin, he said, "And the box?"

"When things got bad...toward the end...I used to hide in my playhouse out in a little grove behind The Rest. I remember putting this box up in the rafters, but once...everything happened...I never went back there. You know, I was so worried about my stuff. I kept asking my social worker if I could go get it. Eventually I just forgot about it." As she spoke, Sara caressed the box, reacquainting herself with an old friend.

Grissom studied her face as she took herself back to those days...days when her father was still alive and her family more or less whole. Her innocence was in that box – and his heart broke for her.

Sara turned to him suddenly, "I can't do this...I can't...not right now...take me to bed, please?"

xxx

Grissom had never seen Sara so needy. She was frantic, urging him where he needed to urging. Afterwards, he held her and dozed a little. She clung to him even then, chewing on her thumbnail.

"You only chew on your thumb like that when you're really upset," he said.

"You noticed."

He covered her hand with his own and gently pulled her thumb away from her mouth, "Can you talk about it? The box?"

Sara sighed deeply and was quiet. Finally she said, "Do you remember that little boy we found stuffed in a plastic tub, thrown out with the trash? Devon Malton? We rescued his brothers...Kevin and Raymond. When Brass finally located the mother, he asked me if he should take her to the morgue first or to the hospital to see the boys. I told him to go with the living...that the dead could wait." She raised herself up on her elbows and kissed him lightly, then studied his face. "You and me...we're the living, Gil. That box has been waiting for me over thirty years...I don't want to go back..."

"No one can turn back the clock, honey. Whatever that box means to you, it can't pull you back in time," he said quietly.

"I know that."

Grissom caressed her cheek. "I suspect whoever sent it...Nathan, you said?...returned it to you because he thought you might want to have it."

She leaned her cheek into his hand. "You're right. That's exactly why Nathan would have sent it to me."

"Whether you open it or not isn't important. It's just a box, Sara. It might make you sad for awhile...for a long while...but we're still the living and even strong memories won't change that."

xxx

Sara woke at 2:30, a little disoriented. She'd been dreaming about her old playhouse and while she couldn't remember the details now, it had been a happy dream. Taking a few moments to savor that feeling, she settled down again, hoping to find her way back there. When she couldn't fall asleep she got up quietly and started her day.

Her routine eventually carried her to the kitchen and the tea kettle. While she was waiting for the water to boil she studied the box still sitting on top of the paper it had been wrapped in. _"It's garbage day…I should get a bag ready to go out,"_ she thought. _"That wrapping paper can be recycled."_

There was no way to remove the brown paper and string without touching the box. Once she touched it the present seemed to recede, drawing her back to Tomales Bay…

Grissom padded into the kitchen several minutes later and turned off the burner under the kettle. Sara was still stroking the box absently, completely lost in thought. Fixing them both mugs of tea, he sat next to her, placing a cup close to her hand. "I fixed you some tea."

Startled, she said, "What are you doing up so early?"

"I wanted a cup of tea."

Sara looked at him in disbelief. "What? You don't drink tea when you get up."

"The kettle woke me…"

She looked at the stove – burner off, kettle quiet – until it finally dawned on her how long the kettle must have been whistling to wake him "Oh, shit…Gil…I'm sorry…I didn't even hear it."

"S'ok. You were busy."

Removing her hand from the box, she picked up the mug and took a sip. "I had a dream…a good one…about my old playhouse and I couldn't get back to sleep. I was making tea when I thought I'd get the garbage ready to go…I kind of got lost in thought while I was throwing away the paper this came in."

"A good dream, huh?"

She smiled, "Yeah…and it got me to thinking about the time before…and Nathan and my old playhouse. This thing doesn't seem so…sinister…this morning."

Grissom reached behind her to lightly rub her back. "Good."

"I want to open it," she said suddenly.

He smiled, "Go for it."

Sara took a breath and lifted the lid. On top was an envelope marked, 'Mutton.' The tension of the moment was broken as she laughed out loud.

Puzzled, Grissom said, "Mutton?"

"A very old joke. When I was little, my best friend, Samantha Sinclair, and I were inseparable. We spent a lot of time bothering Nathan when he was in the garden. He used to call us 'Mutt and Jeff,' only I heard 'Mutton Jeff.' It sort of stuck," she smiled, remembering. Opening the envelope, she pulled out a letter and a photograph.

_Dear Mutton,_

_The Rest has changed hands again. New owners decided to spruce up the playhouse and they found this inside. I thought you might like to have it._

_Love,_

_Nathan_

The picture was of a child's playhouse, freshly painted slate blue with white trim. Sara studied it for a moment before passing it to Grissom. "Grampa built that for my father…that's his silhouette on the bottom half of the Dutch door. The windows are glass and everything. I practically lived in that little house in the summers."

Grissom looked at the tiny house, which couldn't have been more than five feet square, and imagined a smaller, happier Sara peeping through the windows. When he glanced up again she was removing items from the box: some smooth stones and a few seashells, old photos, something wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief, several crumbling handmade Valentines, a tiny souvenir Eiffel tower, and a piece of folded paper which turned out to be a report card. When they were all spread out before her, she picked each one up for a moment, then put back in place.

"Quite a little collection," he said hopefully, trying to encourage her to talk.

Sara smiled a little. "Yeah…it is. I remember putting each of these things in this box…gathering them from all over The Rest and packing them up, to keep them safe…" she said, turning to Grissom as she spoke. "It's like I knew my life was going to change and I was trying to preserve important parts of the past. Too bad it didn't work."

"It didn't?" he asked quietly.

Shaking her head, she said, "No. I lost everything."

They were quiet for awhile. Sara continued to examine the treasures from the box. Grissom watched her reminisce, glad she didn't seem overwhelmed like she'd been yesterday. Clearly these little scraps from her childhood still held memories for her.

"You know, Sara…I don't think everything was lost…" he started.

"How can you say that? You know what happened."

"No, no…I know what happened and I'm not diminishing that." He glanced at the little bits spread out on the table. "What I meant was…maybe some things were just mislaid."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, understanding lighting in her eyes. Suddenly she was animated, practically bursting with excitement. Hands resting lightly on the edge of the table, fingers curled in anticipation, she looked back at the little museum in front of her then back at Grissom with a smile that absolutely made his day.

Grissom picked up the little Eiffel Tower. "Tell me about this one…"

"That was Mom's. She lived in Paris for a year after she graduated….she went to the Sorbonne, did I tell you? That's where she met my father…" she explained. "When I was little she read the _Madelain_ stories to me…I always insisted she get Eiffel Tower off the mantel before she started…"

"And this?" he said, picking up one of the Valentines.

"My friend, Samantha…Sammy…made that for me in the fifth grade. See? I have one from every year…" she said, picking up the others. "These stones are from the beach at the foot of the grove where my playhouse was…I liked this one because it looks exactly like an egg and this one because it looks like a lion's head if you hold it like this. The white part is the mane and the dark part is the face…"

All Grissom had to do was listen and ask a thoughtful question or two. Her words couldn't keep up with the memories jostling one another to break free. The stories tumbled out of her long after she ran out of childhood treasures.

xxx

Décor was not Grissom's strong suit, so he wasn't quick to notice changes. Besides, Sara had moved in but she hadn't really made her mark yet. Except in the bedroom – he didn't understand her passion for occasional pillows but if that was what she wanted, he'd back a truck up to _Bed Bath and Beyond._

One day her little family of blown glass sea lions appeared on the dresser. A few days later, the miniature Eiffel Tower turned up on the kitchen windowsill. He smiled: she was making her mark and reclaiming her past.

Several days later they were relaxing on the couch, half watching a movie and half reading, but mostly just being together. Sara said, "Do you think we could go away for a few days next month?"

"Sure…where would you like to go?" he said absently.

There was a long pause – so long that he looked up from his journal and watched her chew the inside of her cheek. "Sara?"

"I want to spend a few days in Tomales Bay…maybe visit Nathan and have a look around The Rest."

"You could thank him for sending the box back to you," he said.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "Yeah, all those things I thought were lost."

FIN


End file.
